Sculpt as those who live underground,

Yet, overhead, far more oft am I found.

Should my current ever run dry,

Then once again in darkness I lie.

What am I?

I haven’t written anything in forever and I wanted to ease my way back into the community, my intention is to eventually start writing stories. I thought riddles would be a fun way to come back and I’ve never tried writing them before, feedback and guesses at the answer are very much appreciated!

You caught sunlight in a bottle inlaid with tin foil,

Danced with a smoldering fire to the dirge of the waning light.

I wondered what it would be like to see the world with eyes as bright

As your's.

Truly the world must be larger somehow, full of mystery and wonder as vibrant as that bruise on your forehead when you came crashing into that corner wall of my hallway.

You seem to run into everything headfirst.

Possibly because your head comprises the majority of your body weight

Newborn,

gotta see everything with your own eyes first.

Sometimes it brings you a little closer with reality

And walls

Than you'd probably like.

Or than I'd probably like.

At some point I think your coloring book bled into mine,

I think I must've accidentally spilled water on the whole thing.

Possibly beer.

...Probably beer.

Now there's sort of a giant, wet, mess of color laying here

Can't quite figure out what those pictures were supposed to be in the first place.

It's kind of pretty in a way,

My blues and grays with your hues of crimson and primrose

Like flowers on a rainy day.

You're like sunshine.

You caught sunlight in a bottle inlayed with tin foil,

Then danced with me to a dirge of the waning light.

Maybe one day I'll see the world with azure eyes as bright

As your's.

Until then, dear friend.

Auburn cascades atop the black vinyl exam bed as she lays, legs splayed apart, every modicum of bodily privacy forgotten amidst the ensuing excitement of newfound being.

It's absolutely incredible what an image of black and white is capable of relaying.

And in that moment is envy,

because though these hands might be capable of making love,

they can never create life.

Not in the way this figure laying before me can.

I can never know sorrow in the way she will know today

As that monochrome picture relays a scene as still as silence in a sky

That despairingly believes the sunlight that resides cannot exist

Within the rainfall of a cloudy day.

I pray she does not forget to sway to the music of her own heart's song,

Though the melody of that child can't be found on the gray-scaled screen

It exists eternally in the rhythm of her footsteps forward,

Dancing a tune with the deluge against the ground.

Within the silence that heartbeat is found

And steps with time forever onward.